


Wrath

by kallistob



Series: Spilled Ink(tober) [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anger, False Accusations, Gen, Government, Graves is outraged, Injustice, Like very short, People Being Assholes, Short, Speeches, Swearing, angry percival, but still good, demotion, in which Percival Graves snaps, let this man yell at the unfairness of it all, pent up anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 16:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12561216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: “A mistake which caused the death of several No-Majs, enemy infiltration inside the US government, and several thousands worth of property damage in the city! Amistake,Mr. Graves,” the man says with indignation, "is misplacing the salt for the sugar and pouring the first in your tea. A mistake is not letting Gellert Grindelwald win a fight, then take on your image when thousands of people count on you to keep themsafe!”





	Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Rag'N'Bone Man's Human again and it made me crave a fic in which Percival is done with everyone's bullshit.

He’d been captured. Grindelwald had been clever, dangerously so. He’d conjured the image of a No-Maj couple, rounding the corner of their alley and coming to a halt at the sight of them, bolts of lightning crackling through the air, threatening to wipe them both. Percival had shouted, had looked at them, had wanted to protect them - and it was all Grindelwald needed. A split second of distraction and Graves felt a searing pain in his spine spread through him, enough to make him collapse on his knees. His wand clattered to the ground as Grindelwald stood above him. The No-Majs were nowhere to be found. Graves’ last thought before fainting was that he truly hoped Grindelwald hadn’t killed them.

But they were never real. He’d cared too much, lost in the midst of battle. He’d failed to recognize the obvious flaws of a human illusion through the dust swirling in the air around him and his opponent. He’d played right into Grindelwald’s hand, and he hated himself for it. But could he truly be blamed for caring? For wanting to uphold the statute of secrecy?

“Fucking asshole,” he spat, tasting iron in his mouth. He could hear Grindelwald’s laugh as surely as if the man were still standing in front of him. “Don’t you fucking dare ruin my city.”

-

Days passed. Grindelwald wrecked the city. Graves was left, upon his discovery, to pick up the remnants of his old life. What little was left of it. He’d lost everything.

Rumors and whispers now follow him wherever he goes. Sometimes, the words are thrown straight to his face, and all he can do is grit his teeth. He does his best to respond to the taunts calmly. It takes will he wasn’t aware he still possessed. His lip is still split from where Grindelwald bit him hard enough to take a drop of blood, necessary to his transfiguration. There is a jagged, white scar left, running down his chin. A pale thing, for someone who Grindelwald held for a month. He’d seen much worse in reports. They’d all seen much worse in reports. People talk about that, too.

He’s made it out alive, with information, scars and a testimony. It’s not  _enough_. They talk, they talk, they talk. He insists on going back to work; they give him work, far more than he should have since his demotion. They sneer at him, non-content to find themselves above him for once. He has a boss now, an insufferable Auror he never liked for his sole arrogance. Was he like this, too, before? Had Grindelwald been like this? He hates that the last image they have of Percival Graves is of the dark wizard prancing around in his clothes.

A made-up picture of a man who was real, who existed, who was trapped somewhere no one knew, because they hadn’t bothered to look.

Was Percival Graves really so forgettable? So insignificant? Did he matter so little?

-

Grindelwald escapes. _Of course he does, the bloody bastard,_  Graves thinks as he flips through the reports.  _Fucking asshole, sick son of a bitch –_

“Graves.”

He looks up. “Abernathy.”

The man clears his throat, embarrassed. “You are not supposed to be looking at those reports.”

It takes all he has not to throw them in his face, and scream that he could make a difference. He’s utterly wasted in this place; the fact that his magic has weakened since Grindelwald does not change that. He is still stronger than the majority of the people inside this building, and they all know it. “Of course.”

He hands the files to Abernathy with a smile.

“Another thing,” Abernathy says when Graves makes a move to settle down at his desk again. “You’re expected to attend the meeting regarding Grindelwald taking place in -” He looks at his watch. “Ten minutes. They want you here.”

Graves stares at him. “For what?”

“You were the closest to Grindelwald,” Abernathy explains, as if him and Grindelwald had been best pals who fell short. The short man winces, clearly bothered by his own choice of words. “It’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure it will,” Graves says dryly. He straightens his tie, smooths his waistcoat and makes his way to the door. “I’m sure it will.”

-

It is not fine. It is the least far from _fine_  Graves has ever been since he came back, and that’s saying something. He is livid. His expression must look murderous, because the foreign speaker swallows audibly. But he does not look down.

“You are implying that I helped him escape,” Graves says slowly, softly.

“Listen, Mr…”

“Graves.” Graves glares. As if the man didn’t know his name perfectly. “How could you possibly think such a thing is –”

“Mr. Graves,” the man sighs, shifting in his seat. “You escaped from Grindelwald’s hold unscathed. No, let me take that back : first, you were  _defeated_ by him. Your reputation is known worldwide, yet you let him beat you -”

“He had the upper hand,” Graves growls, fingernails digging into the palm of his hands. “I have explained how he won this fight many times, and I am sure you’ve read my interview in the newspaper, Mr. Hawkins. I made a simple mistake, one he calculated.”

“A mistake which caused the death of several No-Majs and enemy infiltration inside the US government, several thousands worth of property damage in the city! A  _mistake_ , Mr. Graves,” the man says with indignation,” is misplacing the salt for the sugar and pouring the first in your tea. A mistake is _not_  letting Grindelwald  _win_  a fight, then take on your image when  _thousands_  of people count on  _you_  to keep them safe!”

Silence falls.

Graves rises up. Emits a low chuckle. The man imitates him, spreading his finger in warning, palm facing Graves - ready to fire a spell if need be.

“I’m out,” Graves says.

Nobody answers, so he says it again. “I’m out. I’m done. With all of you. I dedicated my entire fucking  _life,_ ” he says, one hand over his chest, “to keeping this nation safe. I made one mistake.  _One._ I find it really fucking funny that you all should talk about mistakes and consequences when you attended multiple meetings with Grindelwald himself, and failed to notice anything was amiss.” Mr. Hawkins’ mouth falls open, but Percival holds up his hand to stop him. “No, let me finish. I made a mistake that could have easily been settled if either of you had bothered to look past the end of your own noses.” His voice is cold.  “And now that he’s escaped again, because  _you_  failed to hold him, because he’s Gellert fucking Grindelwald, you look for someone to blame and turn to me! Don’t!” Percival’s breathing is ragged. He slams his hands down on the table, looking for an outlet. “Don’t!  _Don’t put the blame on me!_  Not for his escape. You can blame me for ‘letting him’, as you so cleverly put, win the fight. You cannot blame me for failing to notice a wolf hiding inside our ranks when you laughed with him as he made his plans. You cannot blame me for simply existing inside the same building as him when he was still a prisoner here. I’m just trying to do my job. I do what I can.  You cannot blame me for your utter failure at keeping him under lock when time came to bring him to Azkaban, Prime Minister.  _These_ ,” he waves to the room at large, “are blames I won’t take. I do not fucking deserve them. I’m only human. I make mistakes. Don’t put the blame on me.”  


End file.
